Bells & Candy
by St. Harridan
Summary: #16: "Crimson" - He's just committed another mass murder. This time though, he did it for a reason. Collection of Kenpachi and Yachiru one-shots/drabbles.
1. Bedtime Stories

**Summary: **Yachiru can be very demanding at times. It annoys Kenpachi, but the more he is annoyed with her, the more he realizes how far he'd go just to make her happy.

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Bedtime Stories

Just when his head hit the pillow and a contented sigh left his lips, a squeal broke out from outside as the door burst open. Kenpachi lifted himself on his elbows but fell back down when Yachiru came hurtling herself at him, colliding headlong with his hard chest.

The first time she had done that – which was years before – she had burst out in tears with a sore at the top of her head. She had probably grown a head of steel since then, because this tackle had been much harder than the first one and she looked down at him not with tears welling up in her eyes, but with a wide beam of excitement instead.

Kenpachi rested a forearm over his eyes, trying hard not to turn over on his side and doze off.

"What, brat?"

"Can I have some stories _now_, Ken-chan?"

Kenpachi refrained from groaning. Yachiru had been whining for bedtime stories ever since dinner about four hours ago. He had told her to shut up as it wasn't quite fitting for a captain like him to be narrating fairy tales to a little kid in the midst of having a meal with his seated officers.

What the hell would they think of him? The hulking captain of the infamous Squad 11 entertaining his little bob of pink with nonsensical fairy tales? "Preposterous," they'd say. Kenpachi wanted to keep their mindset that way.

"Let's save 'em stories for t'morrow, eh?" he murmured, letting his eyes drift to a close with a loud yawn that stretched his mouth wide enough to encase Yachiru's head, pink hair and all.

"But Ken-_chan_!" Yachiru protested, pulling his scarred eyelid open with her index finger and thumb. "Ken-chan, you _pro_mised!"

With a growl of warning, Kenpachi slapped Yachiru's hand away and turned to lie on his side. She slid off his chest on to the bed. Tucking his head in the crook of his elbow, Kenpachi let himself drift off to sleep. Yachiru's faint spiritual pressure, effortlessly dwarfed by his own massive amount, eventually faded into the darkness of the room.

At least the brat had some sense to back down.

No sooner had he thought that, there was a long shriek of "Hiya!". In his puzzlement, Kenpachi made the mistake of turning around to lie on his back, and a pink blur came crashing head-first into his stomach. The impact jerked his brain right out of slumber, eliciting a sound from his throat that seemed like a choked yelp.

Yelp? Damn it, Kenpachi didn't _yelp. _He wasn't a fuckin' _dog._

He looked down and found himself staring into the very eyes of the runt notorious for her torturous antics. He wasn't the only one who had to put up with her nonsense. In fact, he was the one who had to endure the bulk of it...and in Kenpachi's sudden flare of anger, the last thin thread of his patience snapping, he shoved Yachiru off him without the slightest care for her well-being.

"What the fuck d'ye want from me, ye lil' brat?" he all but bellowed. "Don't'cha get it when I say I don't wanna read those goddamn stories? Only 'em shit gods know who the fuck made 'em up. They ain't nothin' but some fucked up pile o' bullshit!"

When he was done shouting, the room felt like a crackling bonfire, filled with spiritual pressure in an amount large enough to destroy the whole barracks. Yachiru stared up at him, blinking her wide ruby eyes in confusion, and when she swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in her throat and slid off the bed, Kenpachi immediately regretted his words.

He could only watch, mouth dry, as she exited his bedroom. The door closed with a soft click, unlike the usual slam, leaving him alone in the darkness once again.

The only light came from the full moon as it penetrated the window and cast ethereal shadows on the wooden floor. Kenpachi fell back down on the pillow, a harsh curse softly hissing between his teeth.

_Smooth, Zaraki. Real fuckin' smooth._

But then again, the brat deserved it. Kenpachi had to attend a three-hour-long meeting first thing in the morning that discussed nothing but pure bullshit and, when he had shot out a challenge to Kuchiki, the "princess" had flatly turned him down without much hesitation – if any. Not like that lily-white assed captain would ever accept. He claimed to have "much better things to do" than waste his time with Kenpachi.

On top of that, he had to deal with a smothering pile of paperwork that never seemed to decrease no matter how many hours he spent working on them. Once in a while, Yumichika would enter the office – only to contribute to the heaps upon heaps of documents. Kenpachi had been on the verge of slaughtering the man right then and there.

After dinner, Kenpachi had returned to the office to resume his work, but Yachiru just had to burst through the door demanding for stories. Giving in, he bathed her, clothed her and, with no intention of getting pissed more than he already was, stuck a lollipop he had found under his pillow into her mouth and retired to his room with hopes of finally getting some rest.

Like most times, his hopes were washed down the drain when Yachiru appeared yet again. Against his better will, Kenpachi had finally lashed out. Now what the hell was he supposed to do with the undoubtedly sulking brat?

Kenpachi ran his fingers through his long, rough strands with a drawn-out sigh. Irritation clearly showed on his face as he frowned at the moon, absentmindedly cursing it for his misfortune and lack of control over his own emotions.

But when Yachiru's image materialized out of the blue on the very face of the moon, Kenpachi stopped short. Pink locks, ruby eyes, bright smile... He blinked, confused, and the image disappeared, swallowed up by a cunning wolf as its howl shattered the murky glass of silence.

Kenpachi lay in bed, chest slightly pulsing with a sudden ache, and tried going back to sleep. Quite a while passed and when he decided that the growing pain deep within his chest was too hard to ignore, he threw the covers off himself and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair once again, growled at his own ignorance and thoroughly messed up the dark tresses.

_Damn it, 'Chiru._

The night was cold, but Kenpachi was numb to it as it bit into his bare skin. He was more than used to the cold. In a few swift strides, he crossed the bedroom. He stood outside Yachiru's door, one hand braced on the knob, wondering just what to say. He was never good with words, especially not in the sense of giving comfort and apologizing.

But before he was even remotely ready, his hand turned the knob and he found himself gazing down at Yachiru. She was on the floor, lying on her stomach, with several boxes of crayons and colour pencils scattered around her.

Kenpachi knew that she was aware of his presence. There was no one in the Court of Pure Souls who couldn't sense his overwhelming spiritual pressure. But Yachiru continued to work on her art, ignoring him completely like as if he wasn't even there.

The man was annoyed, but he kept a control on his own emotions. He had lashed out enough, and this was a delicate situation. One could say that he was treading into a nest of hollows. One false move and game over. Kenpachi hadn't any problems with hollows. The only thing that worried him was the sulking child. Yachiru didn't sulk much, and that was because Kenpachi rarely did anything to upset her.

When he _did _upset her though...he had absolutely no idea of how to undo it.

So Kenpachi just stood there, watching Yachiru. Her lithe hands snatched crayons and pencils up and worked their magic upon the paper. Soon, a picture began to form. When she was done, she dropped the art utensils and held up the paper in front of her face.

Kenpachi took one look at it and burst out laughing. Yachiru spun her head around to stare up at him. Seeing the mirth on his face, her eyes began welling up with tears. A sharp sob left her, knocking Kenpachi back to his senses. He was fast to scoop her up in his arms before she could run past him and out the door.

"I didn't mean it _that_ way, brat." Kenpachi grinned at the picture of Aramaki being smacked around by a small pink and black bob whose only weapon was a pink stick – Kenpachi assumed that it was supposed to be a sheathed zanpakuto. As Yachiru's art normally reflected her feelings, this meant that if she didn't cool off soon, someone was going to get hurt.

"What'cha doin' here?" Yachiru demanded, fighting back sobs. "You're s'posed to be asleep!"

"I can come in here any time I want," Kenpachi replied bluntly, settling down on the pink covers of the bed. She tried wiggling out of his grasp, but all her efforts were nothing but futile. With one hand secured around her, he kept the child in his hold while he scanned through the art piece. This was definitely going to be on his office wall, next to the few dozen earlier works. He placed it down on the bed beside him with a huff.

"So how's 'bout some stories, eh?" Kenpachi grinned down at Yachiru as her eyes widened. A sob escaped, causing his lips to curl downwards in an instant frown. "What the hell's gotten into ye?" Nudging her hands from her face, he wiped the tears away with a calloused thumb, careful not to press too hard.

"You're gonna tell me stories, Ken-chan?" she asked tentatively as his hand retreated from her face.

"What the hell does it look like?" With that said, Kenpachi fell back on to the pink, fluffy pillow and leisurely stretched his arms above his head. He let out a sigh of satisfaction as his joints cracked and folded his hands under his head. Yachiru lay on top of his torso, dwarfed by his much larger frame. A slow smile crept up her face, eliminating all previous signs of sadness.

"What kinda stories are ya gonna tell me, Ken-chan?"

Kenpachi thought of it for a moment with his eyes shut. Then he raised his arms and stretched again, eyes opening to see the hopeful beam on his runt's jovial, moon-shaped face. He was very tempted to fall back into slumber but he couldn't take his gaze away from the child's smile. It was that joyful expression that kept him awake, made him push himself to his limits just to witness it – even if it were just for a few precious seconds.

That was when Kenpachi knew that falling asleep was nothing compared to what he could experience whilst awake. Even if he was tired, exhausted, or teetering on the brink of death, he'd do whatever it took to see that innocent joy in Yachiru's eyes. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the happiness he had felt for himself years ago. It had been a long, long time since then...but never did the memories fade away.

Involuntarily, a hand reached out and plopped itself on Yachiru's crown of pink strands. He caught a whiff of sweet strawberry as he ruffled her hair. The shampoo Yumichika had recommended wasn't so bad after all. It was expensive but it paid off. At least she wouldn't have to suffer with soap as a replacement for proper shampoo.

Yachiru tilted her head to the side, a gesture that made him...love her more than he already did. "What kinda stories, Ken-chan? Are ya gonna tell me 'bout when Feather-face lost to Baldy and had to leave his feathers at home for a day? Or the one 'bout Uki-chan and his flowers? I forgot who burned his baby trees. What 'bout Panda-chan and her pink picture books?"

With a soft chuckle, Kenpachi wrapped his arms around her, grip tightening ever so slightly, securing her small figure to his chest.

"Whatever ye want, 'Chiru."

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**A/C: **"Panda-chan" is an OC in my multi-chaptered fic _Frontline._


	2. Retards

**Summary: **What does 'retarded' mean? Kenpachi teaches Yachiru the real meaning of the word - in his own 'subtle' way - and an unfortunate team member finds out the hard way that Kenpachi doesn't go_any_where without his little ball of pink.

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Retards

The door opened to reveal a beaming face of unblemished skin, dark chin-length hair and a brow decorated with yellow and red feathers. Yumichika sashayed in with a sing-song "good morning!" and plopped a huge pile of paperwork on his captain's desk.

Kenpachi wanted to kill the man right then and there.

As if reading his thoughts, his little lieutenant came skipping into the office and, when her eyes focused on the Fifth Seat, she pointed an accusing finger at him and pouted.

"Ken-chan's gonna kill ya if ya don't get out soon."

Yumichika didn't show any signs of surprise. He had figured something along those lines would happen. In fact, it took place nearly every single day and he was more than accustomed to the verbal abuse he received from his captain and lieutenant.

At the intensifying glare from Kenpachi, Yumichika gave a quick bow and darted out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Kenpachi leaned back in his chair and glared at the pile of paperwork. It was so high that it blocked his view of the door entirely. If he took off his eyepatch, there would be no doubt in his mind that he could destroy the documents in just one stare. A grin of malice crept its way up his face and, just when he was about to slip the eyepatch off, imagination already running wild with a wonderful image of disintegrating papers, Yachiru poked her head out from behind the pile.

"I didn't know ya liked workin', Ken-chan."

At the questioning look on her face, Kenpachi frowned. "What the hell are ye talkin' 'bout?"

She pointed up at him, directly where the grin used to be. "What's with the smile then?"

"I wasn't smilin', ye lil' brat. Who the hell'd smile when paperwork's all in their face?" he muttered, running a hand over his forehead. "Must be one kinda retarded to be smilin' at some damn paperwork."

Yachiru scrunched up her nose. "Re...tar...what was that, Ken-chan?"

"'Retarded.' I ain't tellin' ye what it means." Kenpachi burst out with a laugh at Yachiru's instant pout. It was so early in the morning and he wasn't going to give into that so soon. "Ain't gonna work on me, brat."

Yachiru turned on her heel and raced out of the room. In no less than five seconds, Kenpachi could hear a loud shriek of "Feather-face!" down the hallway that caused a lighthearted chuckle to leave him. Let Yumichika deal with the brat for the morning; he had other stuff to do. The first – though he wanted to make it the last - thing on his list was the..._thing _in front of him. Kenpachi didn't bother calling it by its own specified noun as he grasped a sheet of pristine white paper from the top of the pile. He had the very sudden and tempting urge to stain it with the blood of the Fourth Division members.

Kenpachi had gone through just two or three mission reports and the day's duty roster when he heard rapid thumping outside the office. Footsteps. He looked up just in time to see the door burst open, swinging around and into the wall with a loud bang, and Yachiru was on his desk in a heartbeat, staring up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes.

In his peripheral vision, Kenpachi could see papers flying in every direction. The pile that had been right in front of him was gone.

"Ken-_chan_! Did'ja just call me _retarded_?"

"Ye sure as hell should be!" he snarled, pushing his chair away from the desk and jumping to his feet. Papers and documents and important bullshit that came in black and white were strewn all over the place. Kenpachi could only stare in disbelief. "What the...what the _hell _are ye doin'?"

"Feather-face didn't wanna tell me what it means, so I went to see Baldy. Baldy just laughed and told me that I should come back and ask you, but then I went to Maki-Maki. Panda-chan was there too, so she told me that 'retarded' means crazy." Yachiru's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "And she _laughed _at me and called me retarded and said that you think I'm retarded, too! What did I-"

"That _woman_ called ye _retarded_?" Kenpachi's anger flared and, without another word, he stormed out of the office. The sounds of clashing zanpakuto in the dojo stopped immediately as the captain's spiritual pressure blazed throughout the corridors and hallways of the barracks. From reading the roster just minutes before, he knew who was working in which area, and when he arrived at the male bathrooms and made eye contact with the said woman, a little part of him prided himself in the strength of his own memory.

Kenpachi didn't need to think, speak or ask questions. All he did was take the surprised "Panda-chan" by her throat, swing her around like she weighed barely a blade of grass, and fling her straight through the bathroom wall. Aramaki was frozen to the spot in plain fear; the mop in his white-knuckled grip trembled akin to the shaking of his body.

But Kenpachi wasn't exactly done with that simple as fuck throw. He marched up to where Panda-chan lay sprawled on her back in the center of the courtyard, face already stained with blood from the wound on her forehead.

"Hey there, ye weak-ass fuckface." Kenpachi planted a foot on her stomach, eliciting a choked yelp from his quarry, and leaned his weight on it. "Mind tellin' me what ye just said to Yachiru?"

When she didn't answer – not that she didn't want to, she just _couldn't_ with all that weight pressed upon her – Kenpachi scoffed and spat in her face. The thick line of spittle threatened to slide into her eye, but she didn't dare move a limb for fear of triggering another outrage.

"I never called ye retarded, 'Chiru. It's just this fucked up coward who made it up." Kenpachi sent a bone-crushing stomp into her abdomen and, satisfied with the agony-rich cry he received, left her there to burn in the sun.

Yachiru was about to go up to her Panda-chan to see whether she was all right, but the warning hiss she got from her Ken-chan made her switch priorities. Instead, she skipped up beside him as they made their way through the courtyard.

"Are ya sure ya didn't call me retarded, Ken-chan?"

"Che. Why the hell would I?" Kenpachi sent an intimidating glare at the many shinigami who had poked their heads out the dojo to see what the commotion was all about. One glance at their captain's expression and they disappeared back indoors.

Yachiru shrugged nonchalantly and leaped onto his back. The familiar weight returned, and Kenpachi was pleased with himself to see that she had warped back to her normal, jolly self. That wasn't so hard now, was it?

"Wanna help with some work, brat?" he asked, weaving his way through the empty hallways of the barracks. Yachiru climbed on top of his head, messing up his spikes and bells – especially the one on the tallest spike which took him about two hours to set up – and looked at him upside-down with suspicion written all over her face.

"Do I get candy?"

The hopeful look in her eyes and the inevitable question made him toss his head back with a hearty laugh, nearly knocking Yachiru right off him.

"Sure thing, runt."

And for the rest of the morning, Kenpachi and his lieutenant bent over papers and documents strewn out on his desk, counting figures and scrawling notes. He did most of the work though, with Yachiru sitting on his shoulders and using his head as a table for her art. She liked to think that what she was doing was also work, and though Kenpachi could laugh his whole head off at that self-proclamation, he chose to keep his mouth shut. If that was what made Yachiru happy, he was content to let her be – even if he had to spend three more hours to re-style his messed up hair.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the both of them, Panda-chan sat on the floor of the men's bathroom, nursing her head wound and spitting out a flurry of colourful curses at the captain and his lieutenant which contained no affection of the slightest degree whatsoever. Aramaki stood to the side, leaning against the sink and laughing at his subordinate.

"Shut up, Aramaki," she growled, flinching as she applied a little too much pressure on the cut.

"You're the one who should've shut your mouth in the first place, fool," he countered. "You really haven't learned anything at all, have you?"

"Well, I didn't see that old bastard around anywhere! Who knew he was going to storm his way in here and beat my fuckin' brains out?"

Aramaki let out an exasperated sigh and started to mop up the bloodstains from the floor. "You should know that wherever there's Lieutenant Kusajishi, there's bound to be Captain Zaraki. If you can't see 'em, that just means that he's right behind you. If he's not there either, then at least he's somewhere _near._"

"The fuck does _that _supposed to mean?"

"Idiot." Aramaki slapped her in the face with the mop head. "It _means_, you had better keep your mouth shut and let other more experienced members do the talkin'."

She pushed the wet mop away and wiped the dirty bloodstains from her face. "Fuck you, Aramaki."

It was then that she saw, maybe for the first time since she had been forced to serve under him, Aramaki pick up a more stern and serious expression. "I ain't kiddin'. I'm tellin' you now and you'd better remember 'cause I really don't wanna be responsible for your murder."

At his words, she froze, fear creeping through her heart.

"The two of 'em, captain and vice, go everywhere together. In my ten-year experience, one ain't seen without the other. If you wanna piss someone off, go to other low-rankin' guys like that she-male Kurosawa. Or Yumichika or Ikkaku if you're brave enough. But," Aramaki lowered his voice to a whisper, "don't _ever_ piss off our lieutenant, 'cause that's just plain suicide. You piss Lieutenant Kusajishi off, you're pissin' Captain Zaraki off."

She was about to nod her understanding when a familiar squeal echoed through the hallway outside.

"Panda-chan!"

Panda-chan leaped to her feet and locked herself in a stall in the blink of an eye. The door to the toilets burst open, and she flinched. As she held her breath, all she could think of was Aramaki's words.

"Ah...Lieutenant!" The Tenth Seat sounded nervous. Anxious, even. She hoped that he could at least control his own words. But it was risky to bet on it.

"Hey, Maki-Maki! Where's Panda-chan?"

_That little brat..._

"She...um...uh – wait, Lieutenant-"

Before Aramaki could stop her - which was quite impossible since she was much faster than him - Yachiru leaped up and clung to the top of a particular stall door. A wide beam spread across her face when she found who she was looking for. Panda-chan let out a yelp, backing up against the wall.

"There ya are! Let's go out and play, Panda-chan! Ken-chan wanted some R 'n' R so you have nothin' to worry 'bout."

Aramaki was making frantic but mute gestures of warning behind the lieutenant's back, but the woman chose to ignore him and yelled, "There's no way in fuckin' hell am I playin' with you, retard!"

Captain Zaraki was having some R 'n' R, wasn't he? Then what was with the sudden flare of spiritual pressure that blasted its way through the small toilet right then and there?

Panda-chan was still wondering about it when the next thing she knew, the stall door flew right off its hinges and slammed her square in the face. An image of a wild grey iris flashed before her, as well as a gleaming grin of sharp canine teeth, before she was sent crashing through a wall for the second time that morning.

"Ye wanna know what 'retarded' means, 'Chiru?" Kenpachi cracked his knuckles, trampling Panda-chan's abdomen with a malicious grin on his face. "Lemme tell ye what it _really _means..."

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**A/N: **'Panda-chan' is an OC who plays a major role in my multichapter _Bleach _fanfic _Frontline. _I simply love bashing her.


	3. Kisses

**Summary: **Ken-chan doesn't like kisses, _especially _if they come from a certain bob of pink...or so the rumour goes.

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Kisses

"Ken-chaaan!"

Zaraki Kenpachi was a very avid sleeper. He slept just for the fun of it, not because he had to replenish his strength or energy or whatever the hell they called it. The amount of spiritual pressure he unconsciously leaked out only served to burn food in his stomach, leading to an appetite that was much, much more bigger than what the division's Tenth Seat Aramaki possessed.

Although Kenpachi could be miles away in slumber, uncaring to the activities around his division, even less when those ass wipes were carrying out slaughter among themselves, he jerked back to reality whenever he heard the shriek of one little child.

His brat.

He could recognize that squeal even if he went deaf for it was more than capable of bringing back to life a torn eardrum.

Kenpachi rolled to lie on his back and instantaneously received a punch square in the gut. He had been ready for that; his abdomen had hardened, and the solid muscles made Yachiru's epic dive from the top of the wardrobe a little too ineffective and superfluous.

"Ow! That hurts, Ken-chan!"

Kenpachi couldn't help but grin to himself at the all too familiar whine and several mild punches into his stomach and chest. They were merely itches, and he raised a hand lazily to scratch at them.

Yachiru crawled up the length of his torso, her small frame easily balancing itself upon heaps of muscle and rough hide.

"Keeen-chaaan..."

"Whaaaat, ruuunt?" Kenpachi could almost _feel _the annoyance in her pout and fought back a laugh.

"Look! Look at what I got!" She began clapping the sides of his face, seeking attention. The captain brushed her hands away and turned around to lie on his side with a muffled groan.

"Go 'way, runt. I need my god damn sleep."

"You don't _need _sleep!" she protested, poking his cheek. "You're such a lazy ass, y'know that, Ken-chan?"

At the sound of that, Kenpachi cracked an eye open and rolled over onto his back. He scrutinized the small girl, who could barely straddle his chest with both legs spread wide open, as she stared back at him, blinking large ruby eyes.

"What'd ye jus' say?"

"What? What did I say?"

"Who taught ye the word 'ass'?" This, to him, was a serious thing. Though he was notorious for his filthy tongue, he never let Yachiru inherit it from him. To keep her away from such vulgarities were difficult considering that everyone in the Eleventh Division had horrible mouths and a flurry of colourful words and phrases ready at their disposal – excluding Yumichika, of course.

Yachiru merely shrugged, oblivious of the implications her words had brought upon her guardian. "No one, I guess." Seeing his sudden frown, she tilted her head to the side in confusion. "Why? Somethin' wrong, Ken-chan?"

Kenpachi searched her expression for any hints of dishonesty, but he knew deep inside that she wouldn't lie to him. And though 'ass' wasn't much of a curse word – Kenpachi said it all the time, even in Yachiru's presence – he didn't like the way it sounded when it left her baby-soft lips.

Speaking of lips...

"What the hell is..._that_, Yachiru?" Kenpachi pointed at her lips that he just now realized were glistening, as if they were wet. "What'd ye put on 'em?"

"_That's _what I wanted to show ya!" With a gleeful beam, Yachiru rummaged in the folds of her shihakusho and produced an object that loosely resembled the shape of a finger. She popped the lid open and twisted the base until a peachy pink stick, the colour akin to her lips, rose out of the hollow.

Kenpachi could only stare with no knowledge whatsoever of the thing Yachiru now held in her hands.

"Look closely, Ken-chan!" She proceeded to press the flattened tip of the stick to her lips, coating them even more with colour and... Was that glitter?

"What the hell are ye doin'? What's that?"

"It's called 'lipstick', Ken-chan," she replied matter-of-factly and then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaned down so that the tips of their noses were touching. "Wanna try?"

Kenpachi gave a loud, disgruntled, uneasy scoff and shut his eyes. "Go 'way, brat. I ain't got time to play with ye and yer crap."

"But Ken-_chan-_"

"Shut up."

Yachiru pouted and tried to pull his eyelids open, but he quickly slapped her hands away – gently, of course. He was more than familiar with her antics and reactions whenever she felt ignored, and was even more than capable of dealing with them.

Yachiru sat on his chest, without uttering a word. Kenpachi continued to lay there, eyes closed, inching closer and closer back into slumber. The brat would go away sooner or later – he'd bet on later – but she would go away nonetheless and leave him in peace. All he had to have was patience.

No sooner had Kenpachi thought that, he felt warmth and softness pressing against his forehead. His eyelids snapped open on their own accord. A strand of pink hair tickled his nose, and he would have sneezed hadn't he been paralyzed by surprise.

When Yachiru pulled back, her wide beam was enough to make Kenpachi blow his top.

"What the fuck – _hell _– was that?" he bellowed, mentally slapping himself for spewing forth a curse word that Yachiru was _never _allowed to hear – or say.

All Yachiru did was cock her head to the side, like what she always did whenever she didn't understand the reason of his being mad. Sometimes he had the feeling that she actually _knew _why he was angry, but decided to just set the facts aside and settle to irritate him further.

"What was what, Ken-chan?"

"That – don't ask _me_ – what'd ye just do?"

"What, ya don't like it, Ken-chan?"

"Hell, no!"

"Fine!" Yachiru folded her arms across her chest with a pout and peered down at him. "If ya don't get up and play with me, I'll keep kissin' ya till ya face turn pink!"

"The hell!" Kenpachi growled. "What's gotten into ye, brat?"

Yachiru playfully stuck out a tongue, wagging it at him. "So what's it gonna be?"

Kenpachi glared up at her, hating her guts, before twisting over to lie on his side. "Cheh! Tough luck. I don't bargain with brats."

"Fine, ya asked for it!"

And Kenpachi had to endure a series of sloppy, bratty kisses planted all over his face by the pink-haired bob of a lieutenant. He could have covered his head with his arms, but only lily-assed pansies did that, and he wasn't one of them.

But he had to admit though, as Yachiru's insistent whining filled his ears, that it wasn't so bad to contradict her wishes after all.

If Kenpachi was going to be 'punished' by 'Chiru's strawberry kisses, he thought with an affectionate grin as she clumsily planted one on the bridge of his nose, it would be quite all right to go against her once in a while – just to reap the rewards.

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**A/N: **Just a short one to jumpstart my lazing muse. It wasn't supposed to end like this; it was supposed to be longer but...what the hell? Hope y'all enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Review?


	4. Light

**Summary: **Her smile was what led him out of darkness.

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Light

He hadn't always been living in darkness. Years ago, maybe a century or two, he had known warmth, affection, even love, and those were the happiest days of his life. His godforsaken life. Everything had seemed all right back then, like as if there was nothing left for him to achieve, because he had won it all.

It was true that the 80th District wasn't much of a playground. It wasn't much fun for kids to spend their days, staining their childhood with visions of blood and decapitated bodies, but it was a hunting ground for murderers and bandits alike. They prowled the streets with eyes like that of hawks, scanning for their next victim with as much bloodlust as forbidden desire. That was why children were never allowed to play outside whenever night befell the district, for that was when those with ill will in their hearts came out to have their own fun. Children who ignored their parents' advice, orders, would suffer a tragic end. Some would be eaten by those who were too unfortunate to find proper game, while most girls were toyed around with before being left broken in a dark alleyway, clothes all the more torn than before.

Despite people regarding him as such a person of malice, he wasn't one for picking on little, helpless children. In fact, he despised children. They never really took much liking to him either, scampering away whenever he so much as appeared within their line of vision. It was just as well though, as he would rather slaughter anyone who got in his way than ask politely for them to move.

Much contrasting his cold, distant nature, _she _would be the one to gather the children and play with them, lighten their days with talks of food and fairytales. He didn't know just where she got them from, but she seemed to be a chest brimming with fanciful tales of a place better than the 80th District, the hellhole of the Rukon.

He would find himself wanting to hear more of those tales. She would comply and relay them to him while brushing the rough strands from his face. The smile she wore whenever she looked at him was comforting, and it instilled much warmth in him that nothing else ever could.

That had been the smile to lead him out of darkness.

His own fairytale had lasted but a short while. Before he even knew it, everything came crashing down. She was gone even as he tried to reach out to her, to hold her and pull her back. There was nothing he could do, but till this day he was certain that if he had been more alert, more _careful_, then she would still be here. With her departure, his world was plunged into darkness once again.

But life had a way to make one feel like it was the end of the world, only to grab hold of one's hand and catapult one into yet another seemingly endless bliss.

He never really believed a disaster to turn out for the better, but, holding the sleeping infant now in his arms, he started to wonder whether he had been wrong all along. The day they met, the moment when she had reached out to touch his sword, was when he saw a flicker of light, a glimmer of hope.

It was his scepticism that held him back at first, but with each wail, each cry and scream that she made, he began to gravitate more towards the notion that she was his salvation. Often she drove him to the edge of wanting to murder her, but every time he made a move to do so, her smile would freeze him in place.

That smile was what yanked him back from darkness, and from there he knew that she was his light.


	5. It's Just Me and You

**Summary: **Yachiru practices her art skills, and Kenpachi is reminded of his past with the first Yachiru.

For my dad - happy birthday! :D

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It's Just Me and You

From across the fire Kenpachi watched as the child bent over in concentration, so low that her forehead was touching the ground. He had long stopped wondering just what the hell had managed to catch her interest and hold it for the better part of an hour – or maybe even more. He had asked her once what she was doing, but she simply ignored him.

Or maybe she just didn't understand him.

Either way, he didn't give a rat's ass. She could do anything she wanted so long as she didn't annoy him.

Kenpachi lay down on his side, back facing her and the fire. He closed his eyes to try and catch some sleep, but knowing how dangerous the wilderness was had him on alert, now more than ever since he had taken Yachiru under his wing. He crooked his elbow, used his forearm as a pillow against the hard ground, but still the little sounds of childish amusement kept him awake.

"Oi, runt," he snapped, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. She stopped what she was doing and faced him, eyes wide in a questioning stare. "Come over here, it's time for bed."  
She blinked, once, twice, and returned to her own business. Kenpachi gritted his teeth in irritation and scoffed, squeezing his eyes shut.

If she wanted to die then he'll just let her have her own goddamned way.

_Don't blame me if ye get cut up while I'm sleepin' my freezin' ass off._

"Ken-_chan_!"

No sooner had he thought that, a familiar squeal gave him a start, and Yachiru hurtled herself into his back. She crawled across his body, coming to rest on his chest when he rolled around.

"The fuck d'ye want _now_, brat?" he growled, pushing her face away when she leaned down.

"Ken-chan, Ken-chan!" she kept on chanting, tugging his hair like reins. "Ken-chan, Ken-chan, Ken-chan!"

"Shit _gods_," he snarled, forcing himself to sit up. "What d'ye want?"

Yachiru continued to lead him – by means of pulling his hair – around the fire to where she had recently been, sat down and pointed frantically at the soil. Kenpachi had to bend almost as low as her just to read the faint dirt scrawls. She had written "Yachiru", though he had to add a few strokes to the last kanji character before it appeared presentable.

"Ye're improvin'," he admitted, hiding the faint sense of nostalgia that name induced. He still remembered carving it out when he gave it to the child. She had been practising it ever since, and though sometimes he just wanted to turn away to avoid seeing her sacrilegious writing, he would force himself to look, correct it and tell her to write once more till she got it right.

He didn't have to this time though, and all he did was sit in silence and watch as she did her correction. It took a short while before she was done, but Kenpachi had to admit that she indeed _was_ improving.

"Nice work, Yachiru," he said absently, forcing his eyes not to linger on the name. "Time for bed."

"Ken-_chan_!" she whined and pulled his hair hard. With a sigh, he turned back to her, followed her finger, and was met with a rudimentary picture of a pair of stick figures. One was tall, with a long line attached to its back – he supposed it was to signify a sword – and the other was tiny, a little blob at its companion's feet.

Kenpachi held his tongue from spitting out degrading words of which he was so used to. Instead, he only stared at the soil art, mouth set in a thin, dispassionate line. Yachiru crawled between his legs, looked up at him with bright wide eyes as if asking for opinions. He stared at her for a moment, then, after much thought, picked her up and lay down with a huff.

"Why the fuck d'ye always make me think of 'Chiru, eh?" Before he even completed his question he already received an answer: '_Cause ye named the damned brat after 'Chiru, dumbass._

Kenpachi scoffed at his own stupidity, took off his torn haori and wrapped the child up in it. She nestled against his chest, hands curled up in little fists beneath her chin. He tucked her in, made sure she was comfortable, that the hard ground didn't dig into those fragile ribs of hers.

Unconsciously, his eyes strayed back to the picture. His arms tightened around her small frame when he felt her bury her face in his bare chest, and he looked down.

"But she's gone now, runt," he murmured into her hair, blinking in surprise when she looked back up at him. The innocence in her eyes willed him to go on, and that night he finally gave in. He rested a hand on top of her head and held her close. "It's jus' me 'n ye now, Yachiru."

But, even after all these years, Kenpachi still remembered those words which he had murmured to Yachiru, and he couldn't help but feel like she was right there with them, watching over them.

And laughing at his godforsaken parenting skills.


	6. Some Irritable Company

**Summary: **However irritating she turns out to be, he still can't find it within himself to kick her out.

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Some Irritable Company

He looks at her from across the fire, wondering just what it was that had overcome him when he first picked her up.

Night has descended upon the land, and now they sit on the ground with only a small fire as their sole illumination. Dinner included pieces of a roasted bear cub he managed to find wandering alone in the forest. Despite his being the rather merciless killer, he still feels slightly bad for hunting down such a little thing, but he knows that it had to be done.

Either that, or he would have to sit through the brat's tantrum.

She sits down and faces him, eyes burning bright with the orange flame.

"What're ye lookin' at, ye brat?" he growls, trying to frighten her off, but she remains unfazed and continues to stare at him.

Then she bursts into a fit of giggles, which irritates him even more. He barks a scoff and, leaning back against a tree trunk, closes his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. But it's hard to sleep with high-pitched, annoying as hell laughter reverberating in his ears, and he cracks an eye open and glares at the child.

"Shut the fuck up, runt, or d'ye want me t'roast yer ass for breakfast t'morrow?"

He doesn't expect her to understand. She doesn't appear to either, as she continues to giggle at him, showing her toothless mouth which he, deep down, finds rather amusing. But he needs sleep; he knows that it will be yet another long day for him – no, he reminds himself, it's no longer just _him_. It's become "them", though he still isn't used to it.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. Still laughing. As he tilts his head up towards the dark, moonless sky, eyelids drifting to a close, he wonders whether it's too late to just abandon the brat and travel on his own. She would be nothing but a nuisance anyway and, as proven thus far, a big pain in the ass.

Eventually, her giggles die down – at the back of his mind he wonders just what it is she's laughing about – and silence engulfs them. But, just when he thinks in satisfaction that he's finally going to have a peaceful night, he feels something soft tickling his thigh, and he immediately jerks away.

There the child sits, right in between his legs, staring up at him with those wide eyes that he finds so disturbing yet entrancing at the same time. He swallows, glaring down at her.

"What d'ye want _now_, brat?"

She tilts her head to the side and, after a moment of giving him a look that appeared to question him of his stupidity, she leans forward and places her head against his stomach. He freezes, controlling the urge to grab his zanpakuto as a chill runs up his spine.

"Get away, runt, or I swear I'll cut ye up," he growls through gritted teeth, but she doesn't seem to hear him. Instead, she clutches fistfuls of his haori and buries her face in the cloth, curling up and closing her eyes.

He tries moving away, but her fists tighten and she lets out a whine. For a while there he sits like a statue, glaring holes into the top of her head, until he finally hears her breathing slow into a constant rhythm, a slow and calming one that seems to bring peace to his very soul. His own heartbeat begins to slow, eventually leaving nothing more than echoes in his ears, and he breathes out a dreary sigh.

For a while, he watches her sleep, once again trying to figure out what it was that made him take her off of the streets in the first place.

A harsh wind blows, rustling the leaves overhead, and she shivers. Without much of a second thought, he strips out of his haori, gently prying her fingers from the cloth, and wraps her in it. She squirms a little as he scoops her up in his arms and holds her to his chest, haori secured around her.

"Cold now, are ye?" he murmurs, absently brushing the hair out of her eyes. She snuggles against his chest, the top of her head tickling his neck, and he lets out a meek sigh.

"Don't worry, brat." He relaxes back against the tree trunk, tucking her in the haori and tightening his hold around her. "I'll warm ye up."

At least he has some company for the night, even if it's a big pain in the ass.


	7. Memories

**Summary: **The child reminds him of that woman, the one woman he used to admire, and though it hurts to look back on his past, he can still find something worth living for in the present.

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Memories

"Yachiru."

The light of the full moon, brilliant and hanging bright in the dark night sky, filters in through a broken window pane, casting ethereal glows unto the dirty floor made of broken planks of wood, so old now that they've gone rotten.

"Ya…chiru…"

An owl hoots in the distance, as if answering to his incoherent murmurs, but he's too deep in slumber to hear it. Curled up on the floor, back facing the window, he's hunched up and withdrawn into himself, arms folded across his chest as if he's guarding something precious within his heart.

"Ya…Yachiru…"

"Ken-chan?"

And he jerks awake upon the sudden poking he receives in his side, hissing and slapping the child's hand away on instinct. Still laying in her sleeping position, she stares up at him in puzzlement while he tries to get a firm grip of himself, to control the ache deep within his chest. It burns; the pain hurts him like no blade has ever did – or ever will – and he swallows the lump that has just lodged itself in his throat.

"Ken-chan, somethin' wrong?" She sits up, big, bright eyes never leaving his. He, in turn, doesn't want to look at her – no, he _can't _look at her. She's grown so much now since first they met, and recently he's been plagued by dreams, sometimes _nightmares_, of her namesake – the one woman who ever had the chance of stealing his heart, his soul.

The ache deep inside him is what drives him over the edge, what confirms the fact that the woman still has his heart even though she's been dead for years. He hates it, this feeling, and he blames her for it. He blames her for everything she has done for him, to him, for how much she cared for him when no one else would.

For making him love her.

He shakes his head, trying his best to rid his mind of those mental images – images of her; she and her bright smile, her eyes, her ridiculous dance in the rain – but it doesn't help when Yachiru crawls over to him and pats his knee.

"Ken-chan, what's wrong?"

He immediately scoots away, coming to sit beside the window.

"Nothin', runt," he mutters, though he can't deny that it's a complete lie. "Jus' go back t'sleep."

"But you were callin' my name."

"I was _what_?" He turns to look at her and, upon seeing the confused frown across her face, let out a scoff. "Don't be stupid, I wasn't callin' _yer _name."

"But you were sayin' 'Yachiru', 'Yachiru' so many times, Ken-chan."

"I wasn't."

"You were!"

"I wasn't, brat. Now shut up an' go back t'sleep 'fore I cut ye up and roast yer ass for breakfast."

That age-old threat manages to silence her, but only for a moment, and soon she's bombarding him with questions as to who he was referring to.

"If you're not callin' me, then who're you callin'?"

"It's none of yer damned business, idiot!" He lies back down, crooks his elbow and tucks his forearm under his head to act as a pillow, and squeezes his eyes shut. But even behind those eyelids he can see her, the damned woman. He curses her, insults her, calls her every single name that he can manage before finally reaching his breaking point and, with a snarl, his hands shoot out and grab Yachiru under the armpits, and he lifts her up so that she's right above him.

"Shut the fuck up, 'Chiru, ye're only makin' this worse!"

"Makin' what worse?"

And that's when he catches himself, realizing what he has just said, and that those words aren't actually for the child. They are words right from the very bottom of his heart, a few of the many he wants to spit out at the woman for leaving him, for abandoning him.

For dying.

As he stares up at the child, wide-eyed, he finally gives in to the actual truth behind all his hatred, his bitterness:

Even after all these years, he still misses Yachiru.

He doesn't want to admit it. Dwelling in the past is one weakness that he can't tolerate. History's history, what's the use of bringing it back up again? It doesn't matter one way or another – nothing can be done to bring a dead person back to life – so why is he still mulling over events that happened years ago?

"'Tis yer fault, Yachiru," he growls at the child, "ye fuckin' brat."

She tilts her head to the side in wonderment, and he puts her down. Despite how much he just wants to throw her to the other side of the room, to smash her and squash her like a little housefly, he can't bring himself to. Instead, he places her gently on the floor, turns his back on her with a huff, and tries to go back to sleep.

With the coming of those dreams, those bittersweet memories that strike such nostalgia within him, he now despises even slumber. Sometimes his emotional boundaries are crossed so much to the point that he even hopes to the so-called "shit gods" to let him sleep into oblivion, to allow his death to be quick and painless.

But Yachiru always told him not to take life so easily, not to just throw it away like a rag doll. She had taught him to appreciate what life offers, even if they are just humble luxuries, and she even said that, if someone has the urge to lay a finger on him, he should kill that individual before getting killed himself. That's the only way to live in the 80th District, and he's taken her words close to heart.

He hates how much her words have stayed with him, how much he's attached to her teachings, her advice, her care…her love.

"Ken-chan, it's cold." Her whisper shatters his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He pushes away all those incoming memories of Yachiru, stashes them away in that overflowing treasure chest inside him to be dealt with at a later time, and rolls around half-heartedly to face the child.

"What?"

"I'm cold." She hugs herself to further emphasize the fact. His anger has dissipated, and now, as she stares up at him with a hopeful gleam in her eyes, he's only capable of letting out a dreary sigh. He reaches out to take the back of her collar and pull her towards him, making a mental note to work for some better clothes before winter comes around.

"C'mere, 'Chiru."

Her face instantly brightens up, her two front teeth flashing in a wide beam, and she hastens to his side like an eager puppy being offered milk. She plops herself down, curls into a ball and snuggles up to him.

"I'm Ken-chan's 'Chiru!"

He can't help but smile at that. He reaches out and absently ruffles her hair, giving a soft laugh as the child settles comfortably in his strong, secure arms.

Just like the one before her.

He tightens his hold around Yachiru and, reminiscent of how her namesake used to kiss him goodnight, bends down to briefly nuzzle the child's hair.

"Right, _my _'Chiru."


	8. Life Without You

**Summary: **Yachiru tries to imagine a life without Kenpachi, but she can't even though the possibility is staring at her square in the face.

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Life Without You

"How's Ken-chan doin', Feather-brow?"

"The Captain's doing fine, Lieutenant. All he needs is just s – Lieutenant, don't go in yet! He needs his rest!"

Yachiru looked up at the Fifth Seat, sporting a pout. "But I wanna see how Ken-chan is! I haven't seen him for three hours now!"

Actually, she hadn't seen him for just a little over an hour, but Yumichika omitted the fact as he knelt down and heaved a sigh. "You can see him tomorrow morning, okay? You can ask him to bring you to the candy store," he made a mental note to stay very, very far away from the Eleventh Division tomorrow, "or play dolls with you, but right now, he needs to rest. If he doesn't rest, he won't be able to take you out, understand?"

Yachiru lifted her chin, staring up at her inferior through suspicious eyes. "I don't believe you, Feather-brow. You're lyin' to me. You just don't want me to go in there because you've wrapped Ken-chan up like a mummy and you don't want me to go pokin' 'round and eatin' sweets in there."

Yumichika let out a weary sigh. "Lieutenant…"

"He's right, y'know." Ikkaku, who had been leaning against the wall, watching the exchange all this while, finally decided to come to his friend's rescue. "C'mon, Lieutenant, I'll play with ye. I'll even bring ye over to Captain Ukitake's for some candy. That man always has some stashed away for ye, and I bet he's waitin' in his division right now."

Yachiru stared at the bald man for a moment or so, trying to come to terms with his words. The prospect of ravaging Ukki's Ugendo for confectionary was quite an irresistible idea, and had it not been for her captain being in recovery, Yachiru would have raced Ikkaku to the Thirteenth in a heartbeat. But now, all she did was shake her head, wide, ruby eyes somewhat pleading him to let her go.

"I don't wanna," she said, voice low, very much in contrast to her jovial nature. "I just wanna see Ken-chan."

Ikkaku and Yumichika, silent, exchanged glances. The desolate look on her face wasn't one that crossed by often, and they were more than worried over it. But still, it would be wrong to disturb the captain when he was still in recovery – gods knew how sour he got whenever someone woke him up from his afternoon naps. When that happened, the whole division often had to go through a wild beating that sent a little over half of the squad into the Fourth's intensive care.

Coming to a decision, Ikkaku shrugged. "Suit yerself, kid. Just don't blame us if ye get yer ass handed to ye." But, as he and Yumichika turned heel and left the child to herself, alone in the hallway, he knew that the only person who _wouldn't _receive a beating for waking the captain up was his lieutenant.

Yachiru, once the two officers disappeared down the corridor, sneaked into Kenpachi's bedroom. It was dark; not even a candle was lit, but she knew the place and could maneuver through with ease. Silently padding her way across the room, she came by the bedside, and there lay her eyes upon the face she had longed to see.

With his eye-patch gone, long hair spread about the pillow, a cotton pad taped to a cheek, Kenpachi looked the same as he did just this morning, when she had leaped from the top of the cupboard and woke him up by means of landing hard on his stomach. The only catch was this time, he wasn't sleepy – he was actually tired. That fight with the Ryoka boy had drained him of everything, and though it was exciting to watch the two beasts clash in battle, now it was only painful to see him in such a state.

Unable to take in anymore, Yachiru hopped onto the windowsill and gazed out over the Seireitei. Evening had descended, and the small lanterns hanging from rooftops cast a warm, homely glow across the buildings. She could see Ukki's Ugendo in the distance, but for once, she didn't feel like going over for some candy. For once, she had no appetite. The only thing that whirled around in her mind right then was how Kenpachi was faring. When he was going to wake, whether or not he was _going to _wake.

Yachiru squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her forearms. Trying to imagine a life without him was unbearable – she wondered why she even attempted it in the first place. It was hard to believe that he had fallen, that after so many battles, after even emerging from the clash with the previous Kenpachi unscathed save for a cut on the shoulder, he had found someone to bring him down to his knees. For her, it was difficult to imagine anyone being stronger than him, and this was what distressed her so.

During the aftermath, she had to stand by and watch as he mulled over the past. It wasn't like him to do such a thing, as he always thought that bringing up history was just an excuse to avoid demons from the present. Sign of the coward, he often said. But then there he was, asking her whether she remembered the moment when he had given her a name.

She remembered like it was just yesterday. "Yachiru" – her name, the first word she'd ever uttered. And he had given it to her, made her someone from the nothing that she used to be. He gave her something, somebody to hold on to. Her anchor, and without him, she'd be washed away by the wild tempest that raged about in her mind right then.

Her chest ached, her head pounded, her eyes watered, and it was only when he called out to her in a rasp that she gave a start.

Whirling around, she locked eyes with him. He raised a hand, though weak, and flashed her a grin. "Yo."

And in the next moment, she hurled herself to his chest, squeezing a cough out of him.

"Goddamn it, brat," he growled lowly, rolling around to lie on his back so that she had enough space to snuggle up to his side. "Took ye long enough to check up on me. What, did Ukitake bribe ye with candy an' kidnapped ye t'his Ugendo?"

"No!" Yachiru glared at him, poking him in the temple. "Feather-brow and Baldy didn't want me to come in because they were scared that I'd disturb your sleep and they said that you needed to rest, and then Baldy said that he'll bring me over to Ukki's for some candy, but I told him that I didn't want any and that I just wanted to see Ken-chan."

Kenpachi couldn't really hear half of what she was saying, her words tumbling over one another and coming out almost in incoherent verses. Instead, he nodded with a smirk and wrapped an arm around her small frame. "They're outta their minds, tryin'a pull some bullshit like that on ye. I'm gonna have t'pound some bricks into their heads the minute I get out."

"You better, 'cause they were bein' stupid and makin' me scared."

Ignoring the pain in his forearm, Kenpachi tightened his hold around her, all the more protective. "Ain't no one gets t'scare ye, runt." With his free hand, he pulled the covers over them and tucked Yachiru in. "Ye ain't gonna have somethin' t'eat? Dinner or somethin'?"

"Maybe later. I'm not hungry." She wiped at her eyes, blinking back the moisture. "I just wanna stay here."

Kenpachi gazed at her for a while, the top of her pink head facing him, but he knew just what was going on within her. They'd been together for gods-knew-how-long. He knew the way her mind worked like the back of his hand, and vice versa.

He brushed the hair out of her eyes, gently patting her back, and as he wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in that warm, familiar embrace, Yachiru found herself finally being able to rest in peace.


	9. Irritating Curiosity

**Summary: **"Don't want 'em bastards t'take ye away while I'm sleepin'." - Kenpachi oversees Yachiru's futile attempts at walking.

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Irritating Curiosity

Kenpachi watches from across the fire as the child gets up and starts walking yet again. She takes a few steps, wobbling on her shaky feet, and then falls down. Again.

"Stop that, brat," he barks, irritated now. He's been up for the better part of the night, keeping an eye on her in case something decides to leap out of the underbrush and pounce on her. Small thing like her can be scooped up and kidnapped in just a moment's notice - just like how she was brought away by Kenpachi.

He doesn't think that he has kidnapped her though; who would take care of the kid when there was no one else around? He's merely doing what's right.

Then again, he hasn't been able to tell right from wrong till that bloody morning.

He catches himself, shaking his head, and glares at the child when she ignores his admonishment and rises to her feet. "C'mon Yachiru, it's time for bed. Ye can keep this up till mornin' an' ye won't get any better."

Yachiru seems like she's deaf to his words.

Swallowing his vexation, Kenpachi leans back against a tree and, folding his arms across his chest, closes his eyes. Damn brat never listens to a thing he says - just like her namesake before her.

Kenpachi remembers having a hard time with said woman back in the olden days, with her being the very stubborn one who always didn't care what he thought. Her rashness often ended with her being bullied by the coarse male population, and that always resulted in them being mercilessly sliced up and cut down.

Irritating, the both of them. Just plain irritating.

Why he even picked the brat up in the first place is still beyond him. He doesn't know just what he was thinking when he scooped her up into his arms, when he smoothed her matted, bloody hair down and, cradling her, carried her away from the scene.

Maybe it had been those wide, curious eyes of hers that blinked up at him in silent questioning. That was an odd, foreign expression to him - curiosity. He only ever saw fear, anxiety, terror flash through the people's eyes whenever he was around. Never curiosity. Nobody wanted to know who he was; they just wanted to get away. Didn't want to be killed.

And so, he lived without a name, because what's a name when nobody cares?

That was until the brat showed up.

Kenpachi cracks open an eye to steal a glance over at her. She's crawling, having fallen for maybe the tenth or eleventh time now, but the look on her face is one of determination, of _curiosity_. Again, she gets up and walks, taking one careful step at a time. He watches, intently now, counting each step.

_One...two...three...fou-_

And she falls again.

He runs his fingers through his hair, slightly frustrated that she can't reach five. At this rate, for her to reach five, it will take till morning, and though he's supposed to watch her, he's tired. After having gone through a district, fighting off bastards who wanted to buy the child to sell her to do gods-know-what, looking for food, hunting for game that just won't fall into his traps, all he wants is rest.

Kenpachi beckons to her. "C'mere, Yachiru, time for bed."

"But I don't wanna!"

"_Ya_chiru."

She stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, ruby irises glittering from the fire, a pout in place. With a growl, he puts out the fire and juts his chin out, looking down his hooked nose at her in triumph. Tears start welling up in her eyes. He mentally kicks himself and, immediately, automatically, he scoops her up into his arms.

"Don't cry, Y-"

And she bursts into tears.

Suppressing the curses that are now on the tip of his tongue, Kenpachi holds her close, cradling her, rocking her and gently patting her back. He puts her namesake's method into use; he remembers her stroking and patting his back whenever he can't sleep, whispering sweet nothings into his ear till he falls asleep.

Now, thinking back, he thinks he must have been a rather big baby to need such comfort.

He scoffs, rubbing Yachiru's trembling back. Her sobs are quiet, as by now she knows that he doesn't like it when she cries. She'll get scolded when she does, and she has learned to control her emotions. Kenpachi's proud of her for that, though he never shows it.

He pats and pats until she has quietened down, till she isn't shaking, and he looks into her eyes and flashes her a grin."Crybaby."

She sniffs, poking him in the cheek. "Mean Ken-chan."

He can't help but laugh, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Now go t'sleep. Ye can do it again in the mornin', all right?" She nods in obedience and wriggles out of his arms, but he prevents her, tightening his hold around her, and when she looks at him, questioning him with that curious stare, he all but smirks.

"Don't want 'em bastards t'take ye away while I'm sleepin'."

And when she's curled up in his embrace, sound asleep, head resting in the crook of his neck, his haori wrapped around her small form, he wonders why he even said that. If someone takes her away, he'll have a reason to fight.

And he likes to fight.

But then again, the warmth her small body emits is rather comforting on cold nights such as these. Even if she's ignorant, even if he's the one who has to whisper "sweet nothings" into her ear till she falls asleep, he finds himself content. Happy, even, and that's strange because he never feels that way since the death of the first Yachiru.

Really, the two of them are just irritating. But it's a good sense of irritation, one that tickles the sides of his heart, makes him smile, makes him laugh like nothing else can.

Absently, he brushes the hair out of her eyes, bends down and nuzzles her hair, breathing in the scent of dirt and soil and smoke.

It's the kind of irritation that makes him care for someone like he's never cared for anyone before.


	10. Where The Heart Is

**Summary: **"Home is where the heart is."

* * *

Where The Heart Is

He hates it whenever she asks him what those tiled roofs are, as if those shelters for the rich and arrogant are the most interesting objects in the world.

"What're those shiny things, Ken-chan?" she'll ask him when they're on a particularly high hill overlooking a district, high enough that they can actually see the Seireitei in the distance. Tall buildings and their orange roofs, especially that of the white tower in its heart, never fail to catch her attention. He remembers being like her, but that was ages ago when her namesake was still alive.

"You'll make it there someday, Zaraki," the late Yachiru used to say as she ran her fingers through his hair to reaffirm her prediction, "you'll be a strong shinigami, a captain. Nobody can take you down – I know you won't let them. You won't have to live in this hellhole any longer. You'll make it. I know you will."

He hasn't made it yet, still trying to fulfill her last wish. He's stuck to her words, each and every one of them, taken them to heart. They guide him, offering him quiet companionship whenever he feels like tearing open his own heart, throw it onto the dirty ground so that he'll be able to join her in another life. Those words will stop him, remind him that he still has some work to be done here.

He's still needed – _wanted_, even. It's strange, how he's actually useful for something other than killing. He has always hated children, despised them, often wondering just why Yachiru ever wanted to have some of her own, but ironically, a mere child is making him stay.

In truth, he really does concern himself with the brat's welfare. Many a time he finds himself wondering just what it will be like if he decided to just abandon her – how will she fare? Who's going to take care of her? He had even gone so far as to send her to an orphanage at one point. The experience wasn't pleasant; she had tried to tear her way through the caretakers, tiny hands reaching out for him, catching nothing but thin air, tears streaming ceaselessly down her cheeks.

The painful ache deep inside his chest was what made him turn around. He scooped her back up into his arms and, with a curt nod at the stunned old woman, headed back down the road.

Sometimes he thinks that what he had done then is wrong. The orphanage, though not exactly the best place for a child to grow up in, is equipped with all sorts of necessities. Food is always served no matter how scarce, clothes are washed, the children are even taught how to read and write. Being raised in such a place is better than hanging onto a killer's shoulders, traveling from district to district, eating whatever scraps they manage to find off the streets and sleeping wherever they can. Often they have to settle with caves or under the cover of a leafy tree, or even in a dark, narrow alley.

But then again, the brat never complains. She whines whenever she's hungry, cries when she doesn't get what she wants, pouts when he scolds her, snuggles up to him when she's cold, but never does she complain. It's as though she's accepting anything the universe throws at her – at _them_, looking through positive eyes.

Eventually, he comes to feel some of that optimism himself. She's grown on him, got him wrapped around his finger, and whenever she smiles, he smiles back despite himself. It's a genuine gesture, very much in contrast to those nasty smirks he flashes after a battle won.

Those short, thin arms around his neck don't annoy him anymore…but when he thinks back, they _never _truly annoy him. It's just him trying to get used to being a guardian rather than a killer, controlling his emotions instead of channeling them out through his fatal sword swings.

Now, he doesn't look at huge houses with envy anymore. Instead, he gives them an amused glance and nothing else. Having a home is more important than having a house, because what's a building when one can't relate to it?

Yachiru's snuggling up to him doesn't irritate him any longer, and he finds himself easily allowing his own arms to wrap around her small figure, to bring her closer to his chest, keep her warm. He can feel her heart beating against his own, its rhythm steady and peaceful, all the more calming to his awkward nerves.

And if someone were to ask Kenpachi where his home is, he'll admit that it's right there, in his own arms.

Because, simply put, home is really where the heart is.


	11. The Seireitei

**Summary: **Why are they even going to the Seireitei in the first place?

* * *

The Seireitei

"Ken-chan?"

His nose twitched a little on instinct as the scuffling of a pair of tiny feet upon the ground pulled him out of his half-sleep.

"Ken-_chan_."

"Time for bed, runt," he muttered through gritted teeth, all the more irritated now that she didn't appear to get the message. He was sprawled on the ground, arms folded at the elbows, hands tucked under his head, substitutes for a pillow, and his posture was more than enough to indicate that he just wanted to sleep. Nothing else. And having to deal with a whiny, spoiled brat was the very last thing on his list.

"But Ken-chan, I need to ask ya somethin'."

Kenpachi cursed the day he ever taught her how to speak. He even cursed the gods for having given her a tongue, wished he had just sliced it off the moment he settled upon the decision - that ridiculously_stupid_ decision - to bring her along. The reason as to why he had done so in the first place still eluded him - he'd long abandoned the thought, too busy trying to pry her hands out of his hair and blocking out her bawling to even care.

"What d'ye want _now_, brat?" He knew he shouldn't have given in, should have just ignored her till she got fed up and settled for sleep. But the fact was he was actually paying attention to her - _humouring_ her, more like. Submitting to her? _Hell, no_. Again, that was the last thing on his list.

She climbed on top of him and sat on his chest, legs crossed, tiny palms clamped in front of her, and she bent down. "Where're we goin'"?

Kenpachi held down the urge to recoil away from her, ignoring the fact that their noses were just barely an inch apart. Stupid brat, couldn't estimate the limits of one's personal space. "We're goin' to the Seireitei," he said, rolling his eyes under his lids. "I told ye already, right? Pay attention the next time I tell ye somethin' or I won't be repeatin' it again."

"You just repeated what you said, Ken-chan."

"Shut up. That one time doesn't count."

"But you just said-"

"Shut _up_, brat. Go to sleep." With that, he turned his head to the side, a scowl etched on his face. The weight, though light, was still upon his chest, slightly burdening his breathing. He had every mind to push her right off when she spoke again.

"What are we gonna do there?"

"Where? The Seireitei?"

"Yeah."

"Well," and then Kenpachi stopped, stuck at the question. Why were they going to the Seireitei in the first place? The thought never really came to him. Maybe it was because he was just too busy killing people that he just didn't notice? Maybe. Because the last thing that he did see before he met the brat was blood and carnage and dead, decapitated bodies. No life except for the sudden appearance of a small bob of pink, crawling out of hiding from under a corpse.

"Well?"

Kenpachi gazed into those wide, bright red eyes of hers. They seemed to shine in the moonlight, earning an ethereal glow that made the breath catch a little in his throat.

Yachiru, the child's namesake, used to tell him stories, tales of the Court, the Seireitei. How magnificent it was - large, tall buildings, good food, bathhouses, tea houses, noble families, an organized military system, academy – but he'd never really paid much attention to her though. He was always certain that there was no way out, but then now, as he regarded himself, he found that he was miles away from that hellhole in which he used to live, from where he had been quite sure there was no escape.

"Why're we goin' there, Ken-chan?"

The child's question seemed to echo in his ears, like they were from far away.

Why were they going there? So that Kenpachi could become a captain? So that they would have nice beds to sleep in, good food to munch on? So that he would have a whole group of underlings who he could bully day after day? As inappropriate as that was, it sounded all the more entertaining. It was all in good fun, he thought, but still there laid another matter that was important.

"We're goin' there so I can get ye all the candy ye ever wanted," said Kenpachi, flashing her an encouraging grin as her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Really?" was all she could manage.

"Yeah, really." He ruffled her hair. "But ye need to go to sleep now or we won't be able to make it. If ye don't sleep, ye'll get all wobbly on yer feet tomorrow and we won't make it in time, get it?" In time for what, he wasn't sure, but his statement did have its desired effect. Yachiru nodded in enthusiasm and slid down to the ground.

"Don't worry, Ken-chan, we'll make it!" she chirped, settling herself down beside him. "I know we will."

"Says the brat," he teased lightly, laying out his haori for her to use as a cover. He was more than accustomed to the cold anyway, didn't want the kid to get sick half-way through the journey.

"What kinda candy are ya gonna get for me, Ken-chan?"

At that inquiry, Kenpachi couldn't help but take her into his arms, hold her close. The warmth her little body emitted reminded him so much of that woman. Sometimes he wished that he hadn't picked her up, didn't want the memories to haunt him for the rest of his godforsaken life, but then, most of the time, he found himself wanting more flashbacks of those age-old moments. However irritating they were, and despite how much he was against dwelling in the past, he craved for more.

"I'll get ye all the candy that ye want. Bet ye can't finish them till ye're an old hag, and by that time, ye'll have rotten as hell teeth."

"Oh, _yeah_? Try me!" She stuck out her tongue playfully, smacking his hand away when he poked her nose.

"That is _if _we get there. If ye want yer candy, shut up and sleep." He cradled her, telling her stories of the Seireitei, of the fine dining and equally fine clothes. He told her all the stories that Yachiru used to tell him until she drifted off, but never once did the word "if" surface again.

He was sure to reach it. Having to fulfil promises to a dead loved one was a pain, but he'd gladly do whatever it took for Yachiru. For the woman and the child.

They were the ones who had given him hope to continue living in the first place anyway.


	12. Wrapped 'Round Her Finger

**Summary: **Kenpachi denies being wrapped around her finger.

* * *

Wrapped 'Round Her Finger

She lies sleeping in the middle of the bed, little body curled up in a tight ball, the quilts twisted around and under her.

Kenpachi has no idea how long he's been sitting on the window ledge, gazing out across the Seireitei. The moonlit streets and rooftops make for quite a stunning sight, and for a while he just can't tear his eyes away. He's never one for beauty, brushing it off as being superfluous – because what's beauty when you're just going to die and rot anyway?

Kenpachi isn't staying up by choice, really. The fact that he's about to nod off and sleep right there on the window ledge is because of the brat herself. She, taking the middle spot of the bed as if Kenpachi's supposed to sleep elsewhere, as if the whole bed is hers. A few times he's made a move to shove her off so that he can get his own fair share, but every time, he stopped himself. Or rather, the serene look on her face caused him to stay his hand, clamp his lips over the curses readied on the tip of his tongue.

It's odd, how she can do this to him without even trying, while being asleep. It's ridiculous. Kenpachi isn't a fool; he's overhead the conversations that Ukitake and his friend had in regards to Yachiru, how she's got him wrapped around her finger. The fact is undeniable, but still, Kenpachi feels like he's submitting to her, and that irritates him.

He, the violent, bloodthirsty beast of the Eleventh, having afternoon tea with a child, sipping from a pink cup? He's gone through that, and it wasn't a very pleasant experience. Ikkaku's bursting in to find his captain only made it worse, and Kenpachi had skinned his ass when Yachiru had gone to sleep.

But still, Kenpachi never really minds it. Sure, it's irritating when she wakes him up by means of launching herself of the edge of the wardrobe and landing right on his stomach, when she breaks into a captains' meeting screaming "Ken-_chaaan_!" at the top of her lungs, when she latches onto his head and uses his hair like reins to steer him, when she gives him lousy as hell directions and gets them lost. But it's the kind of irritation that _doesn't_ grate on his nerves.

Kenpachi gets off the ledge and, after rummaging around the cupboard for a while, pulls out a thick blanket, one of the many pink ones that Yachiru forced him to buy but never uses. Carefully so as not to wake her, he places it over her figure and settles on the edge of the bed, reaching for his pipe on the side table.

As he sits there, leisurely puffing out thin swirls of smoke, he finds that his attention is held captive not by the moonlit streets and rooftops, but by the sleeping brat herself.

It isn't noticeable, but he allows a smile to grace his features. _Wrapped 'round her finger my ass._

But he knows that it's nothing but the truth.


	13. Hero

**So, I'm back with more one-shots to add to this collection! Hope you guys enjoy! Remember to review, please! ^^**

**Summary: **Yachiru thinks he's a hero, and that, Kenpachi guesses, is good enough for him.

* * *

Hero

Heroes are people who save damsels in distress and help them out of their misery and rescue them from evil. Heroes are the keys to salvation for the world, the hands that will banish the encroaching darkness, that will triumph over the wicked.

Kenpachi doesn't think he's a hero. He laughs and spits and jeers at the term. Back in the 80th District, there is no such thing as a "hero." Everyone's evil, everyone's just striving to live for themselves. There is no salvation when it comes to living there. It's like a hellhole filled to the brim with demons who pilfer and plunder, murder and rape, and each day is overshadowed by an evil that seems to have come from the very depths of the Fire.

Kenpachi doesn't do all those things, but he knows that he's not a hero. He doesn't kill on purpose – he just kills to survive. Those who want to fuck with him will be dead so fast that they wouldn't know what hit them. But that's just about it. He doesn't believe in stealing, says that it's just for the weak who can't rely on themselves to survive. And he doesn't even want to go into the matter of rape. He had lived with a woman in that shithole for so long, and the only times when he managed to get into Yachiru's yukata was initiated by either gentle touches or flared tempers. Aside from that, he never really dared to touch her.

It's surprising, coming from a man of his stature. Rough, coarse, everything one will expect from a person who originated from the lower districts. And he came from the worst, most violent district, nonetheless. Surely he doesn't have any virtues any longer, having been swallowed up by the bloody jaws of the 80th.

Kenpachi hates it whenever they think that way. Whenever he comes across grocery stores, or an old candy shop to indulge the little brat's needs, the customers would scurry out or cower in the back the moment they lay eyes on him. It's not like _everyone_ who comes from the lower districts has no moral values. Hell, Yachiru was the one who taught him table manners, and she'd been living in the 80th for gods-know-how-long. Sure, she didn't _originate_ from there, but being somewhere with a drastic atmosphere can do things to a person's mind. Yachiru, apparently, was one of a handful who managed to actually keep their sanity in check.

Back in those days, Kenpachi had been on the verge of losing his sanity. He still claims that he's lost part of it, while the other half had been salvaged by the woman. He doesn't admit it though, preferring to keep it to himself.

But when she died, everything, his world, came crashing down on him. It was only through the intervention of the brat that he once again managed to keep his mentality in check.

It's been years since he first saw her back in the 79th. Named her Yachiru on the spot in remembrance of the woman, though he knows that this time, the roles are reversed – he's the one who has to teach her table manners. They're still somewhere in the Rukongai, trying to find their way out, trudging through to get to the Seireitei, and he still doesn't know just what spurred him into taking the kid along. He still doesn't get why he chose to name her after the one woman he personally looked up to. The kid's nothing like the woman. Stubborn, yes, but that seems to be the only trait they share.

Maybe it was the look in her eyes that made him pick her up. The curiosity in those ruby irises only further enhanced his interest. He doesn't like children. He used to glare and growl at them back in the 80th, and he had to admit that it was damn fun watching them scurry around crying for their mothers. But Yachiru had told him not to do that, said that the children were afraid of him and hadn't done anything to him to warrant such treatment.

Maybe what Yachiru had said about kids made him take her in. The woman wanted to have children of her own anyway, so this, Kenpachi guesses, is just a way of fulfilling her wish. Even if he has to suffer through countless sleepless nights trying to get the brat to fall asleep, and annoying potty breaks during the course of their journey.

But he still can't ignore the feeling he got when he first laid eyes on her. Amidst the carnage, there was that innocence that shone through. A ray of hope, if he could be so bold to regard her as such. A little too dramatic, he muses, but still sort of accurate. It wasn't a sensation that he's too familiar with. It wasn't something that he got whenever he was with the brat's namesake. It was an entirely new, foreign sensation. He felt a little light-headed at first, confused, puzzled, the flare of anger in which he had immersed himself during the course of the homicide lifting as if a wind was trying to blow it away. It felt slightly like the time when he first came to terms with his budding relationship with the woman, with a few exceptions.

It felt good. To know that one wasn't the only person there to witness such a violent act was somewhat of a solace. A child, she wasn't supposed to see all this. Kenpachi, to this day, still has the feeling that he's the one who had killed her parents by accident. He can't remember anything after Yachiru's death until the moment where he first laid eyes on the baby. It was like a wake-up call. A rather odd one at that.

When the baby wraps her little hand around his long finger, Kenpachi finds himself unable to stop grinning. He tries to mask it with a frown, but always he ends up smiling to himself. There's just something in the way she looks at him that tickles the sides of his heart like nothing else can. Everything seems to become a little clearer, the goal that he once stashed away in the back of his mind after Yachiru's death steps forth from the shadows. It's almost like he can see the future. A future that only focuses on him and the brat, a reflection of who he is and who he's going to be.

The woman had told him many times that she was convinced of his abilities to climb up the ranks of the Seireitei. Due to his powerful spiritual pressure, he's capable of being one of the most feared shinigami in Soul Society. He didn't really believe it back in the days, thinking that she was just saying it for the sake of cheering him up. It was a hard life back then, and Kenpachi has to admit that she didn't have the best jokes and sayings around to lighten the mood.

But now he's convinced that he can actually make it to the Seireitei and be a renowned shinigami. Maybe a leader of one of the divisions with the brat as his little assistant. Now he finds himself mulling over the numerous possibilities of life in the Seireitei. He dreams of good food, warm, clean clothes, a bath that he can actually stretch out in and not care whether or not the walls have peepholes in them. Occasionally, he brushes all the luxuries off with a scoff, thinking that they aren't possible since it's going to be a military setting, but seeing the way the child, Yachiru, struggles with short food supply and thin, miserable clothing, he hopes that they can find a better life in the Seireitei.

Never has he been so optimistic in life before. Back in the 80th, he did have his moments wherein he would listen to Yachiru's stories about the Seireitei. He'd imagine their life together and, rather reluctantly, the large private living quarters that they'd share along with a few kids of their own. They'd start a family, just like how she wanted. But the moment she died, he'd lost his anchor.

But Kenpachi had saved the child from the merciless streets of the 79th, and from that moment on, she's the one who holds the key to his resurrection. Without her, Kenpachi's certain that he won't be able to make it out of the encroaching insanity. He knows that he somehow owes her, but the expression in her eyes whenever she looks at him seems like she's the one who's grateful to him. She still can't talk coherently, but through her glances and long stares, he can feel the gratitude that she's trying to convey.

Maybe it's just him being unreasonable or too caught up in the moment. Maybe it's because he doesn't believe in heroes that he doesn't see himself as one worth looking up to.

But Yachiru thinks he's a hero, and that, he guesses, is good enough for him.


	14. Her Father's Daughter

**Summary: **Kenpachi makes Yachiru stay at home while he goes out to hunt hollows. Naturally, she doesn't listen to him.

* * *

Her Father's Daughter

As he stared at his own reflection, Kenpachi grinned. The sword that had so long been with him gleamed back with an ever promising sheen, its strained spiritual pressure weak as it submitted to its master's own. He slid it back into its sheath, the sound of the hilt hitting home reverberating throughout the room, and slipped on his captain's haori.

"Ken-chan."

He turned and, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of none other than the brat. She stood there in her pink pyjamas – that had come in a size too big for her – and fluffy pink bedroom slippers. Kenpachi forced himself not to grimace at the way the big, beady, button eyes of the rabbits as they stared up at him. They freaked him out a little, how those eyes seemed so lifeless and glazed over with polish, and more than he once he regretted ever getting those slippers for her birthday.

"Ye're supposed to be asleep, brat."

A beam lit up her face, so wide that the corners of her lips seemed to touch her ears. Kenpachi knew what was going on within her mind right then and there. He rose to his feet and shook his head, frowning down at her.

"No can do, brat. It's way past yer bedtime, and I don't want ye to go sleepin' in again tomorrow."

"But Ken-_chan_," she started, that high-pitched whine of hers grating on his nerves, as she rolled back and forth on her heels, "I wanna go hollow butt-kicking with you so I can see Baldy and Feather-face get their butts kicked and then I can help kick butts too!"

"There ain't no butts for ye to kick tonight." Kenpachi scoffed, but still found it rather amusing that she'd rather give up slumber to fight. Like what Ukitake always said, "She's her father's daughter."

Kenpachi, though he would never say that he was her real father – because he obviously wasn't – he'd never be able to argue with that. He was there to see her grow up into the little brat that she was now. Long ago, back in the days, she'd been so innocent, untouched by the horrors of the world. Now, though she still appeared a child, she was a child beyond her years. There was an aura about her that warned others not to fuck with her, and if her thread of patience were to snap, Kenpachi could see the roof of his division's barracks being catapulted off its base.

The thought made him smirk, but he held it down, unwilling to give her the wrong idea. She was still staring up at him, eyes wide and hopeful – the kind of hope that was always present whenever she asked for treats and bedtime stories.

"Bed," he pointed down the hallway, showing a bit of teeth to scare her off, "now."

She remained unfazed, unmoving. "But I don't wanna."

With a sigh, he squatted down and, with his broad shoulders hunched up like a hermit's, scrutinized her. "Whaddaye want, eh, brat? Want a story? Want some candy? Ice cream?" Mentally, he cringed at the thought of giving her sweets way into the night. He'd have trouble falling asleep, forced to stay awake with her using his stomach as a trampoline.

"I wanna kick butts."

"Ye can't kick butts."

"Why not?"

_'Cause ye're still too small. _Kenpachi refrained from saying that, although he'd like to so that she could shut up. Though she exhibited spiritual pressure that could match up to the pretty-boy's – and maybe Ikkaku's as well – he had no interest in watching her being stomped to a pancake by some idiot hollow that was going to die anyway by his own hand.

"'Cause it's past yer bedtime, now go." He grasped the back of her collar, lifted her up, turned her around in the opposite direction, and dropped her to the floor. The rabbit slippers made a squeaky sound upon landing, and he growled on instinct. "Go to sleep 'fore I kick yer ass back to where ye came from."

She stood in silence for a moment, and then obliged and slumped down the corridor. Kenpachi watched her back as she faded into the darkness, heard the door close with a soft click, and stood up with a grunt. He was going to have a lot of sulking to deal with later on. At the back of his mind he wondered which situation was more tolerable: having to deal with that or a brat who wouldn't stop drooling on his stomach first thing in the morning.

Still, Kenpachi figured he did the right thing. She was, after all, still growing. He remembered reading one of those half-assed parental guidebooks some old woman back in the Rukongai lent him. Said it did wonders in the raising of a child, but Kenpachi had his doubts. Her teenage boy, who could only stutter and stare and piss his pants when he first laid eyes on Kenpachi, wasn't much of a motivation.

He knew that Yachiru never really left his side whenever they went off for a good hunt, but that was when she was still a baby. He was forced to bring her along to witness all the bloodshed, and although it wouldn't make much of a difference now to have her stay home unexposed to all the gore, he still wanted her to at least be independent. She couldn't be riding his back all the goddamn time – he too dreaded the idea of carrying her around when she was all grown up. For once, he actually gave a rat's ass about what old man Yamamoto would say.

Kenpachi shook his head, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly at the sound of the bells, and stepped out into the night. The members of his division who made up a party of four, including him, stood out in the courtyard, waiting. Ikkaku was keeping them busy, toasting with the hopes of a good, action-filled hunt. Once he caught sight of Kenpachi, Ikkaku grinned.

"I see ye can't wait to get it on." Kenpachi smirked, holding out his large hand for the _sake _bottle.

"Can't remember the last time I went on a hunt with ye, Captain." Ikkaku popped his knuckles and wiggled his eyebrows. It was obvious that the other two, an old, weathered veteran and a feisty young redhead, was in league with their senior. Hot-blooded, eager, always willing to get down and dirty in blood – that was what Kenpachi liked to have in his division.

Kenpachi grinned around the mouth of the bottle and tipped his head back, savouring the feel of alcohol as it coursed down his throat and warmed his insides.

But the sudden tackle that hit him in between his shoulder blades caused him to spit the last of the _sake _out, and Ikkaku was too late to shut his eyes to avoid it. And the squeal, familiarly high-pitched, made him wince and whirl around.

"_Yachiru_!"

She grinned at him, the sort of grin that showed that she was in power, taking pride in her work.

"Back to bed," he growled lowly so as to not alarm his inferiors. Granted, they were already snickering behind his back – excluding Ikkaku, who was busy trying to clean off alcohol and Captain-spit from his face.

Yachiru stuck out her little pink tongue, and then climbed up so that she was sitting on his shoulders. With her tiny fingers she grasped his spikes and flailed her legs about, cheering with lyrics twisted with gore and violence.

"Go, go, Ken-chan!"

Kenpachi seethed, but was slapped out of his thoughts of murdering the child by a small hand to his forehead. "C'mon, Ken-chan, we ain't got all night." She patted the sides of his face and pulled at his cheeks, giggling. "Ya ain't gonna get rid of me _that_ easy!"

"All right, _fine_." Kenpachi pushed through his team and marched towards the gates, grimacing as Yachiru shouted motivations and ideas and ninety-nine ways on how to decapitate a hollow, her fluffy pink rabbit slippers squeaking against his back.

But Kenpachi had to admit that he did quite like her suggestions.

He smirked to himself. "Her father's daughter" indeed.


	15. Heaven Needed A Hero

**Summary: **Death happens for a reason. Yachiru learns this the hard way.

* * *

Heaven Needed A Hero

As the evening sun drifted past the horizon, creeping behind the mountains with a promise to return once the night ended, Yachiru settled down on the grass, the hakama of her uniform reassuring her knees to be untouched by the ground. The mound of earth had long been compressed by rain and sunshine, by storm and lightning; all the elements of nature had flattened out the ground before her. Granted, it was an old site, but still she couldn't really believe that it had been years since she came here to pay her respects.

Yachiru had lost count of the first time she came here. It was so long ago that she didn't even bother keeping track. Ken-chan never liked her to reminisce about the past, said that history held nothing but the regrets and stupid bullshit that people did, and it would only hinder them from moving on. Clearly he didn't want her to remember how they met, how bloody the both of them were, how lost he had been, how the innocence had been torn away from Yachiru's tiny, young self.

But, ironically, he had been the one to bring up the subject in the first place. After that frightening fight with Ichigo, in which Yachiru had almost began to fear for her Ken-chan's safety, he had surprised her by asking her whether or not she'd remembered the moment wherein he had given her a name. She remembered, of course. There was no way in hell would she ever forget. That was the highlight of her life, the most important memory that she could ever have. It wasn't just a name, it was her identity. Before that, she was no one – she was nothing.

She didn't understand him. She thought that she did, but now that she was older, she found that she hadn't really been paying attention. His words, his actions, his body language – she had been blind to everything until the moment where she finally broke her promise to him and delved deep within the past, recalling each phrase, each tiny gesture. And then she began to wonder why he didn't kill her in the first place, why he was determined, hell-bent, on taking her along with him when it was too obvious that she would be a burden.

She knew that she wouldn't receive answers to all her questions now; it was just too late.

With her right hand, Yachiru traced the inscriptions in the tombstone. Its surface was cold and rough to her touch, unwelcoming, and though she wanted so much to just pull away and scamper home, she restrained herself. She was torn between leaving and staying, but the lifeless zanpakuto that stood upright and rigid, its blade buried deep within the earth beside the grave, seemed to command her to stay. Or rather, she felt like she was the one who was pleading for permission.

It felt like it wasn't in her place to be here. She should have known from the tone of his voice, from the look in his eye and the way he carried himself that something was wrong. He would never force her to stay in the barracks to await his return. She and him – they were inseparable. She should have realized that something was up when he gave her a pouch full of money, a bag of _konpeito_ candy that he had stashed away under his pillow, and told her to go to her room and lock the door.

Nothing reached the division, as far as she was concerned. The only fighting took place at the gates, but they were nonetheless ferocious. In her bedroom, she could hear the screaming and shouting, the chaos that raged non-stop for days on end. She didn't know how many suns rose, or how many moons shone in the night; all she knew was that the sky, once a beautiful, clear blue and decorated with puffy, white clouds, had been reduced to nothing but a smoke canvas.

She had stayed huddled under her blanket, hugging her knees to her chest. Never had she been so afraid until that moment.

As the sun cast its final glow over the Seireitei, a mixture of striking orange and red with bits of purple thrown in, Yachiru leaned forward and rested her forehead against the tombstone.

_If I'd known that would be the last time, I wouldn't have let you go._

She would have held him, hugged him till there was no tomorrow. She would have her small, skinny arms wrapped around his neck, her head tucked under his chin, her cries and protests the only sounds filling his ears. She wouldn't care what he thought, what other people thought. She just wanted him with her, telling her bedtime stories over and over again, and when she fell asleep, he would take her into his arms and pat her back. His haori would be her blanket, his chest her pillow, and her little fingers would clutch at his _shihakusho _like her life depended on it.

And she would never let go.

"But...it's all right, I guess," she allowed a small smile to grace her lips, "Heaven just needed a hero like you, Ken-chan."


	16. Crimson

**Summary: **He's just committed another mass murder. This time though, he did it for a reason.

* * *

Crimson

Another one. Another night, another bloodbath and he sits there with other peoples' blood, people that he barely knew, on his hands. Not just his hands; he looks like he just walked out of a shower of crimson. His hair, his clothes, his body – all he can see is red.

He smells the rusty copper in the air, frowns. It makes his nostrils itchy – it's a scent that he's all too familiar with yet he doesn't like it. He can taste the copper in his mouth now and he licks his chapped lips. The sour tang of it doesn't appeal to him in the slightest.

He takes to the colour crimson because that's all he can see when they're dead. The people who dared jest with him are now lying all around him in decapitated heaps, many with eyes still open, unblinking, glazed over. It's like they never saw the blade coming until the light – or the Fire – was staring at them straight in the eye.

He takes to red because it's rather comforting to know that once the blood has been spilled, those assholes are gone. There won't be anybody to pick on Yachiru any longer.

He doesn't want to look at her. He knows that she's there, just behind him, staring at him through those wide, inquisitive eyes of hers. Curious, always curious, like all the world's on exhibit and she's the only spectator there. Unbending, unafraid.

That's one thing that he likes about her. She's not a coward. She whines, but she's not scared to witness slaughter. It's already built into her, he guesses. The first time she opened her eyes and there was blood, there were bodies. And there was him with the blade clutched tightly in his right hand, ready to swing down into another unsuspecting victim.

But she's stranger to the other cruelties of this hellhole. She knows the pub, but not the brothel. She's seen and smelled and tasted (when he wasn't looking) the alcohol and witnessed bar brawls, but never has she seen the inside of an old bedroom, the dust that gathers in dark corners, smelled the musky, derelict stink of the bed. She's seen big, beefy guys beating up skinny little boys, seen the way a bloody tooth flies across the room and comes to land inside her glass of milk, but she's never witnessed the way sweat slides down a woman's body, the way she cups her breast and urges her client on. She's heard curses salty enough to make a sailor blanch, but never the small whimpers and moans, the soft growls and husky promises of a night of burning passion.

She's never known the darker side of the world and he doesn't want her to ever come close to knowing.

That's why he drove his blade into those men without a second thought.

He feels a tap on his knee, looks down and ignores the inevitable smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, brat," he says softly, almost with a tinge of guilt. He never wants her to see such manslaughter again. Once is enough, especially for someone of her innocence, but he figures that it's unavoidable. The only way to keep her safe is to keep her with him and he's certain that he won't be letting her go anytime soon.

She sits down, but he quickly drops his blade and picks her up so that she doesn't plop right into a puddle of blood. He settles her on his knee and she reaches out her tiny hands to touch his face. He lets her, closing his eyes as she trails the smooth, soft tips of her fingers along his skin. It feels so much different. Her touch and the murder – they are like two different dimensions that have just fused together to create a bastard of a sentiment. The wild pounding of his heart seems to ease, slowly, with each passing moment until eventually it returns to its normal pace and he opens his eyes to see her staring in wonderment at him.

"What?"

She withdraws her hand and he refrains from feeling a slight disappointment deep within himself. She doesn't know how to speak yet, so he guesses that's why she's being silent. Or maybe the gore has finally gotten to her. But the look in her eyes says otherwise. She's staring at him like she has known him for countless years, like she's been with him since the beginning of time and he hasn't realized it. Like she knows everything that's going on within his mind right then and there.

"Stop that, brat," he hisses and, without even thinking, clasps a hand over her eyes, "stop starin' at me. I hate it." Sometimes he does wish that she didn't have so much courage. Sometimes, he just hates her guts.

She pries his hand away, and he withdraws only to have the area surrounding her eyes covered in blood. He makes to wipe it away before it drips into her eyes, but she ducks under his arm and crawls up his thigh and settles there with her face buried in his torn haori, tiny hands clutching the cloth. She doesn't seem to care that she's now as bloody as him.

_Stupid brat_. He leans back against the tree trunk and heaves a sigh, absently placing a hand on her back to secure her. The steady movement of her small body and her hot breath that falls upon his abdomen comfort him, reassures him that she's still alive – that the _both _of them are still alive and well and breathing.

"Yachiru," he taps her back gently, rhythmically, feeling the way her name rolls on his tongue, in his mouth sticky with blood, "did ye count how many people I killed today?"

She shakes her head, grip tightening on his haori as if in disapproval. He chuckles lowly to himself, running a hand over her head.

"Yeah, don't do that. Ye can practise counting other things, just not dead people."


End file.
